


Five Times Wesker Looked After Birkin

by Chiauve



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: 5 Times, Gen, Science Bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2019-02-28
Packaged: 2019-05-13 03:53:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 1,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14741513
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chiauve/pseuds/Chiauve
Summary: ...and one time Birkin did the same for him.





	1. The Lab

“Birkin.”

No, he was busy. He didn’t have time. Conferences could wait. Break time could wait. This was what mattered.

“Birkin.”

The G-virus would be complete, would be everything Umbrella could ever dream of. He’d show them all, especially a certain _family_ that lineage wasn’t important, it was intellect, intellect and talent and _hard work_ and…

Hands on his shoulders was his only warning to get his eye away from the microscope before he was spun bodily around and got a face-full of Wesker. Despite any whisperings he may have heard in their sad excuse for a kitchen turned break room, it was really wasn’t that nice of a face, especially with those shades on. Birkin saw only his own sunken eyes staring back in their reflection.

“You need to eat,” Wesker said in that annoying, flat voice of his.

“Humans only require a certain number of calories per day, which I’m sure I’ve met…”

“Twelve hours ago.”

“…And losing a few won’t make me drop dead. I’m fine, I’ll eat when I’m done here.”

“In twelve more hours?”

“However long it takes,” Birkin snapped. He meant to turn his seat back around to return to his work, but Weser grabbed his shoulder and ducked down.

“Don’t you _dare_!” Birkin shrieked but too late, he was hoisted up over Wesker’s shoulder and carried from his lab like a child. “Put me down, you test-tube abnormality!”

“We’re back to the test-tube theory? I thought we’d settled on me being an alien,” Wesker said casually, immune to Birkin’s wriggling and attempts to get free.

“Locker-room slime mold!”

“Look, I haven’t been around long enough to have multiple origin stories yet, you need to pick one and stick with it.”

Birkin finally surrendered and stopped struggling. He was rewarded by Wesker setting him down to allow him the dignity of entering the break room on his own two feet. That didn’t stop Birkin from dropping into a chair at the table petulantly and glowering at a few of his colleagues hovering by the coffeemaker.

Wesker slid him a plate on which was a sandwich before settling himself in the chair opposite Birkin. He was going to damn well watch him eat, wasn’t he? Didn’t Wesker have his own work to do?

“Eat it, Birkin.”

Apparently not.

The sandwich tasted like nothing, or at least Birkin presumed it did as he had no memory of eating it, his mind so consumed with thoughts of the G-virus he had to get back to. Regardless, the sandwich was gone and, taking the plate, Wesker magnanimously waved him away.

Having something in his gut did make Birkin feel a bit better, so he mumbled out a thanks before he left to lock himself away before Wesker arrived to ensure his human needs were met yet again.

Really, were they not giving Wesker enough work? Damn.


	2. The Dorm

Birkin kicked open the door of their shared dorm room and beamed at Wesker. It would have been far more effective if Wesker bothered to look up but he was at his desk, scribbling away on one of his many pages of lists and notes, books and planners stacked around him. Birkin never figured out why he needed more than one yearly planner at a time but then Wesker was missing more than a few screws.

"Shut the door, I’m busy.“

"Guess who was just approached by some Umbrella representatives,” Birkin said, an almost sing-song quality to his voice.

"Never in a million years could I guess.“

"They want to enroll me in their executive training program as soon as I graduate!” Birkin announced, entering the room and shutting the door behind him. “I mean, I wasn’t worried I couldn’t get a job or anything but _Umbrella_ , and right away!”

"Good.“

Now Birkin believed he knew Wesker well enough to pick up on nuances in his voice, and despite the flat lack of enthusiasm he noted a hint of satisfaction in it. What did he have to be smug about?

Wesker was part of an Umbrella scholarship program for ‘unfortunates’ that would feed him into one of their myriad departments upon graduation. He had regular contact with Umbrella representatives who monitored his education and provided him a basic allowance for food and other essentials.

"You said something, didn’t you?”

Wesker set down his pencil and finally looked at Birkin. “I may have let slip that you were a brilliant bio-engineer and considering how young you were, even with extra training, they could get a lifetime of work from you making one William Birkin an excellent investment.” He turned away again, lifting the pencil but twirling it in his fingers rather than using it. “Besides, I assumed you’d appreciate going straight to a job after graduation rather than back to your family,” Wesker muttered the last part.

Birkin felt subdued and, for a brief moment, betrayed. So Umbrella didn’t notice him because of his brilliance, they talked to him because Wesker told them to.

He must have been quiet for too long because Wesker swung around in his chair and glared at him. “For fuck’s sake, Will. I recommended you. Whether they decided to actually consider you or not is based on your abilities regardless what I say. You’re giving me too much credit.”

Right. What was Wesker to Umbrella anyway? A pity case, a PR stunt. Nothing made a large company like that look good like sponsoring a poor orphan genius. Not that they wouldn’t bring him into their fold if he wasn’t capable, and Wesker was damn capable.

But so was Birkin, more so, and Wesker ensured they noticed that.

He kicked at a leg of Wesker’s chair. “Thanks, locker slime.”

"Don’t mention it. Ever. The last thing I need is for people to think this was some overture of friendship.“

Birkin winced. "Of course not. We just work well together.”

"Precisely.“ Conversation over, Wesker turned back to his work and ignored Birkin, who promptly began digging through his stuff for spare change with which to call home to tell his mother the news. The executive training program at Umbrella!

Maybe his father would finally stop treating him like a failure now.


	3. The Street

Birkin had hoped that with the departure of high school his bullying issues would cease. After all, students had real work to focus on, and at such a prestigious school as this did they not want to pursue their degrees? They were certainly paying enough to.

Ironically, in this case he was right; he’d suffered no issues with bullying on campus. But he was off campus, heading back from the market, and currently enjoying the pathetic charms of a goddamn adult who verbally accosted him before growing bored of that getting physical. Birkin was experienced in these matters and went into his tried and true defense: he threw his arms over his head and curled into ball. He received a kick or two before his attacker started grabbing at him and went for his wallet.

In his fear Birkin barely registered the heavy pounding of boots on concrete getting closer until they were on top of him, and then his attacker no longer was as someone threw themselves knee-first into the man and they both sprawled onto the pavement.

Birkin dared to look up just as Wesker scrambled to his feet, boots slipping on wet ground, and went for his attacker again, kicking the older and much larger man in the face as he tried to get to his own feet. He kept kicking when Birkin’s attacker went down.

There were no quips, no dialogue or dramatic music, and from Birkin’s position on the ground the whole thing was rather anticlimactic as Wesker finally leapt back as the man pushed himself to his feet. Wesker took up a defensive pose between his opponent and Birkin, his feet light and ready to move and fists raised.

The man ran, and Wesker took the opportunity to curse him out in Afrikaans as he did so.

Birkin sat up. “Did you just beat up a guy twice your size?”

“Surprise is a hell of an advantage,” Wesker panted, relaxing and letting out the stress in a few shudders. His ire returned and he turned it on Birkin, grabbing his shirt collar and yanking him to his feet roughly.

“Hey!”

“Really?” Wesker snarled, giving Birkin a shake, “Curling into a ball? Wonderful strategy!”

“Shut the hell up! We can’t all win the puberty lottery!” Birkin yelled, trying to force Wesker to let go and failing. Wesker was smaller than most adults, obviously an adolescent, but he towered over Birkin and was already blessed with strength that would only develop further. He worked out at the gym down the road every other day after classes. “And what, you fight too?”

“I do kickboxing on weekends.”

“Of course you do!”

Wesker let him go and Birkin started collecting the food he’d just bought that was now scattered on the sidewalk.

“Hurry up, if he goes and collects friends or even just comes back himself we’re both in trouble.”

“You could help,” Birkin grumbled.

“What, I haven’t done enough?”

Birkin stuffed the surviving food back into the bag, leaving the squished fruit where it fell, muttering to himself.

“I shouldn’t have to deal with this anymore. I’m in college! What about me makes people want to beat me up?”

“Well you’re incredibly annoying to start.”

Birkin glared. “I’m thirteen. What grown man bullies a thirteen-year-old?”

“It’s not bullying that was a mugging. You look rich.”

“Wait, what?”

Wesker grabbed Birkin by the collar and steered him down the street and they both hurried back towards campus.

“You look rich. He probably thought you had money on you.”

“Well I...do.”

“Because you’re rich, and you look it. Who are you trying to impress?”

“I...” Who indeed? He wasn’t home anymore; no one at the university was going to call home if he didn’t measure up to standard. He could sneak to the back stairwell and smoke weed with Wesker wearing nothing but his underwear if he wanted and no one would say anything about it!

That seemed a bit much, though. He was here to study, to learn, to advance. He had an intellect few could dream of and fewer knew how to use. He wouldn’t waste it.

“How the hell do you know what rich looks like, Mr. Amnesiac?”

“Because I’ve seen poor people and I’ve seen rich people. You’re the latter.”

“So what, I should dress like I only have two outfits like you?”

“I have three outfits. And it would help. I’d rather not have to save you every time someone gets pissed off with you, especially because I might not be so lucky next time. You’re not worth an ass-kicking.”

“Well...thanks, I guess.”

“Sure. If anything, get rid of that damned sweater vest, you’re embarrassing me in front of the muggers.”


End file.
